


Points of Pride

by Idol_pastimes



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:42:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24046105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idol_pastimes/pseuds/Idol_pastimes
Summary: A piece of paper marked with thick, black ink.It shouldn't mean so much.It shouldn't need to be written down.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 6
Kudos: 72





	Points of Pride

**Author's Note:**

> I love Callum's little impromptu hand signs that he's either making up or practising when Ben isn't looking, and the crossed fingers when he says 'hopefully' during the I Love You scene was one of the first times I noticed Ben's clear reaction, taking in both lip-reading info and hand gestures to try and make sense of the world. Beautifully done by both of them, too!
> 
> Callum's tiny gestures are just another facet of his gorgeous personality, where he tries his hardest to take care of everyone around him, even if he doesn't fully know how to. I wanted to write about his POV of the aftermath of the Phil / note scene, where once again the guy swoops in with one gesture and suddenly he's awesome again in Ben's eyes. Ugh. But Callum is way nicer than me, so this is his response.
> 
> Also, this has been sitting on my desktop for weeks now, and if I don't stick it online soon, it'll drop into the folder of WIPs... so be free, random ficlet! Enjoy? :D

*************************************************************************************************************

Callum had heard the door close, softly, over three minutes ago and realised he’d been waiting subconsciously for the overly-loud thudding of Ben’s loafers to stomp their way into the living room ever since. He pressed the home button on his phone one more time and watched as the clock ticked its way to four minutes since his boyfriend had made his way back into the flat. He could feel his eyebrows draw down and the frown pull on his face, shifting his attention fully away from the soft sounds of the gameshow playing unwatched in the corner of the room. 

Instinctively, he turned his head, throwing a ‘Ben?’ over his shoulder before rolling his eyes. 

_Still getting used to_ not _doing that_.

The lack of answer was unsurprising given that Ben wouldn’t have heard him anyway, but it did give Callum a brief shiver of horror as his brain kicked up the possibility of it being Stuart and Rainie down there, too _distracted_ to reply. He called out again, just to make sure that there was absolutely _no_ possibility of them carrying on any antics all the way up the stairs and anywhere near him, just on the off-chance that they’d decided to come back early from the Vic.

Another minute ticked off on his phone and Callum sat forward, elbows on knees, straining to hear. It had to be Ben; no way could Stuart keep quiet this long if it was him and Rainie, as gross as that was to consider. 

Which begged the question: why was it taking Ben so long to make his way upstairs? As he’d taken Callum’s key with him on his way to his dad’s place, the thinking was that he’d be able to make a quick exit if it all went sideways and, either way, it would save him having to wait to be buzzed back up afterwards.

_Because he was always, without any discussion, absolutely coming back afterwards._

The edge of a smile that crept its way onto Callum’s face was completely out of place given the circumstances and he pressed his lips together to try and force his happiness down a few notches. He wasn’t sure how Phil would react, had never been able to read the guy. Had never really had the desire to, if he was honest, nor the opportunity beyond their initial meeting and a few instances in the pub. But Ben had been certain that it would not be a fun conversation, one-sided or not, so his own joy at finally, _finally_ hearing those three little whispered words from Ben the night before could wait. Or at least be put on hold until this next Mitchell-family-hurdle was overcome.

Seven minutes now, and he’d been patient, surely? He couldn’t possibly incur the wrath of Ben for this one; he wasn’t ‘playing the Big Man’, or sweeping in like a hero… He’d just, just…

Callum crept to the top of the stairs and peered around and down into the dimly lit space, only just able to make out Ben’s silhouette against the glass of the door at the bottom. Limited lighting or not, he knew Ben’s shape, his form; the arch of that neck when he hung his head in grief, the stillness of his torso when holding in burgeoning fury, the slope of his shoulders as his façade ebbed away at day’s end. He knew _him_. 

_He looks lonely. And small._

Callum moved to sit down on the top step and fumbled with his phone, pecking a quick text out and then sliding it to one side, out of his way. 

> _Coming up? xx <_

He didn’t enjoy texting Ben when they were close enough to just _talk_. He hated that he couldn’t look at Ben as he did it, couldn’t watch his face or see his reactions and that it just _took too long._ Not that he’d ever begrudge Ben the time; Callum would take all day to make sure Ben understood him, was included in every part of his world, but he just knew that it infuriated Ben that he was always a step behind, waiting to be caught up, feeling like a burden. 

Callum had started to pick up a few signs online and via Lexi’s programmes, and he’d seen Ben’s eyes flicking to them without thought, clearly using lipreading and hand signals to try and gain a cumulative understanding of what was going on. It might be hit-and-miss at times, but at least it gave Ben some sense of agency in all of this. And some of his gestures might not be strictly BSL approved, but Callum was learning, was _willing to learn_ as much as he needed to, to make it so he and Ben were on the same page. 

He watched as Ben jumped, pushing something into his left-hand pocket as he dragged his phone out of his right, the screen illuminating his face so Callum could see him smile as he read the text there. Rather than typing back, he slid the phone back inside his coat and let his head drop back against the wall with a sigh, before straightening up as he caught sight of Callum sitting waiting for him.

‘You stalking me now, Officer Highway?’

The smirk that crawled across Ben’s face as he moved slowly, wearily up the stairs was half-hearted at best, and Callum dropped his head with a laugh only there to keep this charade of light-heartedness going a little longer.

_For as long as he needs it to_.

He waited until Ben turned himself around and sat down next to him, thighs touching and shoulders curved towards each other. 

‘Just missed you. You’ve been a while.’

He knew Ben hadn’t caught it; he hadn’t been looking, so was ready to repeat the words before Ben cocked his head and let out a soft ‘hmm?’

‘I missed you.’

Ben’s smile spread to his eyes and now Callum had him; he’d dropped the outside world persona and the weight of whatever he’d just been through with his dad, and for just a moment, it was _them_ again. 

‘Only been an hour. Not that desperate for another birthday present, are ya?’

Callum swayed sideways, knocking their elbows together and rolling his eyes like he knew Ben wanted. Innuendo always helped to avoid real talk in Ben’s mind. Or at least exasperated folk to the point of wanting to just walk away, with the same end result. Unfortunately for Ben, Callum saw through him. 

_Always could._

‘Was it that bad?’

Ben’s smile dropped and he moved his head to look forward again, effectively cutting off any communication between them for a moment. Callum glanced over at his phone for a second, ready to _push_ Ben into speaking before stopping and taking a breath. Ben wasn’t angry or swinging for anyone. He wasn’t screaming and shouting, or sitting scarily quiet. He just seemed… pensive. Like he wasn’t sure what to say or do. Callum had rarely seen him like this, so rather than grabbing for his phone, he rocked into Ben’s side once more and brushed the back of his hand across the back of Ben’s.

Without any sign of conscious thought, Ben’s hand fell to the side, palm open and waiting for Callum to slide his fingers into their rightful place. The sense of warmth and comfort that radiated through Callum just with that one action should have been embarrassing, but it wasn’t like he had to _tell_ anyone. He could just sit, holding hands with his boyfriend and wait for the sun to rise on a different day, if he wanted to. And if that _knowing_ made him feel as though he could burst through a wall if Ben asked it of him, then no one had to know about that, either.

He felt Ben sag into his side a little more, but then start to fidget almost immediately. It surprised Callum slightly; Ben was at his most cat-like when they were sitting side by side and rarely initiated movement without some form of incentive. He was more than happy to lie, lean against or flop over Callum at a moment’s notice, as he was very much aware that Callum had no restraint at all when it came to touching, petting or just holding Ben, especially in the sanctity of their – various, at this point – homes. Very often they spent their time together in a messy huddle of limbs and relaxation. 

For Ben to start digging about as he was, unprompted, would suggest that he had something pressing him into motion, and as Callum knew it hadn’t been him, it must have been something that Phil had either said or done and Ben had made the impulsive decision – as he was wont to do, on occasion – to deal with it then and there. 

Pushing out a deep breath through his nose but trying to hold his face in check, Callum racked his brain with something he could possibly say that would assuage Ben, even if just enough to get him up and pull him further into the flat before having the scheduled Mitchell-prompted meltdown his dad had likely set in progress. Before he could make any useful decisions, though, he was presented with a carefully folded piece of note paper, thrust into his eyeline. 

Ben was holding it out but still clearly avoiding looking at him. 

Callum’s answering frown was deep; he could feel his eyebrows pressing low and he was having to squint in the sub-standard light at the top of the stairs. He reached out and took the paper, still maintaining his tight grip on Ben’s fingers with the other hand but glancing back at the side of Ben’s face, trying to figure out what this was all about. Clearly, Ben wasn’t interested in giving him any clues and kept his head facing forward, stubborn as ever.

The thick black ink stood out even through the reverse side of the sheet and Callum could make out a ‘you’ before going any further. He looked back at Ben and saw his eyes dart away hurriedly, as though ashamed to be caught looking. Callum placed it on his thigh before unfolding it, using only his right hand.

**I’M PROUD OF YOU.**

Air seemed to force its way out of his lungs and he suddenly realised how tight and upright his shoulders had drawn in preparation for whatever the note was going to reveal. But for once, for this one, solitary time, Phil Mitchell appeared to have done something for his son that was purely _good_. Yeah, he’d punched Jonno and stuck up for them both in the pub before. He seemed to have given them his blessing – or at least hadn’t been outright against the idea of them as a couple – since their rather unique ‘coming out’ in the middle of a hostage situation. But there was always a tinge of a shadow to everything that Callum knew of Ben’s dad. A hint of violence, a muted aggression, or always some other underlying unpleasantness that was wrapped around any bit of altruism that he threw their way, and God only knew how many times Ben had been caught up in his dad’s backhanded-declarations of pride and immediately led into yet another secretive – or criminal – enterprise.

This, though. _This_. 

Callum stared at the words, clear and to the point. And he couldn’t see anything underhanded about it. 

Phil always seemed to be a man of few words, so the brevity of the note did not surprise him in the least. But the sheer honesty of the sentiment? With no hint of an ulterior motive? No sense of him holding back that last word of praise or pulling his usual trick of keeping a manly distance, maintaining a steadfast position of masculine pride or standoffishness?

As far as he could see, it was what it was. Simple. Clear. 

And Ben didn’t know how to handle it.

Callum folded the note back in half with one hand and held it back in front of Ben, turning his body more so his knee was now pressing against the side of Ben’s thigh. The shift made it virtually impossible for Ben to ignore him anymore, and the two sneaked glances at Callum while Ben returned the note to his pocket oh-so-carefully were not missed.

‘You alright?’

Obviously that was not what Ben expected him to say, and Callum smiled softly at the immediate look of bravado that swept across Ben’s face. He knew he was the more emotional one of the pair of them; Callum had always struggled to hide how he felt, knew that he showed every passing feeling on his face. It was one of the reasons why he felt so calm most of the time now, as he knew that he could finally show the world what he thought and felt and didn’t have to be scared about revealing too much anymore. 

But Ben, brave, out-and-proud, devil-may-care Ben, he wasn’t there yet. Maybe he never would be. After a childhood packed with trauma and secrets, an adolescence laden with violence and lies, then his short experience with adulthood peppered with deceit, trickery, and a variety of façades; maybe Ben was always going to default back to hiding any true feelings just to keep himself safe and sane.

Callum didn’t mind that. He really didn’t. Because he also knew that Ben knew _him_. Knew that Callum didn’t buy into his macho nonsense. Knew that he’d seen him at his lowest ebb and wasn’t fazed by it. Knew that the bravado, as instinctive as it was, was nothing but a smokescreen easily dispersed with a look, a touch, a word.

Before Ben’s retort even formed on his lips, Callum watched his face twist and his teeth bite at the inside of his mouth. His eyes flicked up to meet Callum’s and, slowly, so slowly, he shook his head. Back and forth. Just the once.

‘No.’

Callum’s arms were around him before he could say anything more, and although he wasn’t crying, as far as Callum could figure, his breathing was laboured and the grip on his shirt was telling. His face was pressed against Callum’s neck and he was rocking, just slightly, more to release some of the pent up energy that he clearly did not know what to do with. Callum closed his eyes and pressed a solid palm against the back of his head, and waited. He knew that he was shushing Ben, muttering pointless sounds of comfort and placation, but it was habit. And it wasn’t hurting anyone. 

And maybe it made him feel a little better too.

He’d meant what he’d said: he was there for Ben, whenever he needed him. And if that meant marching round to Phil Mitchell’s house and them having words, he’d do it. If it meant demanding an explanation, he’d go and get it, for Ben. If he wanted him to, he’d go.

Or, if what Ben wanted was to sit here for the next hour, just being held, then he’d do that, too.

_Although one of those choices is way more enjoyable than the other_.

It wasn’t too long before Ben was moving back, head bowed but face dry and Callum shuffled a little, trying to work some feeling back into his legs. The hard wood of the top step had been digging into the backs of his thighs and he dreaded the pins and needles that would kick in once he stood up. Still, he made no move to rise, the discomfort a second thought as Ben’s voice trickled out into the hush of the flat.

‘He said he was sorry.’

Callum huffed a brief laugh of disbelief and that got a reaction from Ben; whether it was the movement of his chest or the puff of air that escaped him, he raised his eyes to meet Callum’s and the look of affront dropped away immediately. He shrugged and a wry smile pulled at his lips.

‘Yeah, I know. Doesn’t really cover it, does it?’

He was rubbing a palm down the back of Callum’s arm as he spoke and his eyes locked on to the wall behind Callum’s head as he seemed to drift away again. It was making it tricky for Callum to get a word in, but it didn’t seem to matter just yet; Ben clearly hadn’t finished processing his thoughts and it appeared that a brief note of fatherly pride was just the catalyst he needed to start to spill some of the things that had been stewing inside him for weeks. Callum wasn’t one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, even if it was a Phil-shaped horse. He stayed put, still and silent, one hand on Ben’s knee, and listened.

‘I dunno what he was saying to start with. I almost didn’t go in, you know. Could see him sitting there, with no one else; it was like he’d finally got what he deserved, pushing people away for so long. Pushing me away, even when I did everything… And then he was on about the boat, I think, and I couldn’t understand a _word_ of it, just that he reckoned he woulda come back if he’d known, but how could he not? He knew about Denny, he knew that. And why should I believe him, anyway? He’s never been bothered about my hearin’, never, he just let Mum deal with everything and once she was gone I sorted myself out, mostly. It don’t make a difference, does it, him knowing. Not like he’ll do anythin’, change anythin’, an’ even if he could he’ll likely as not lose interest in a week when summat different comes along or Sharon needs ‘im or he hears that Danny’s back on the scene or-’

His voice started to rise as his words ran together and as he’d been talking, Ben had looked anywhere but at his boyfriend’s face. Desperately avoiding any chance at seeing the expression that Callum knew Ben feared the most: pity. His gaze had jumped between the set of shelves beside them to a point in the middle distance over Callum’s shoulder to, for an infinitesimal moment, Callum’s eyes, then away again, looking anywhere, everywhere else. 

So when Callum reached up to rest a couple of fingers against Ben’s lips, halting the stream of consciousness that was threatening to bubble over, it drew a stuttered, sudden reaction from Ben; a deep intake of breath, a relaxing of shoulders and spine, and the instant meeting of gazes anchored and locked into place once more.

Callum couldn’t help but smile as he spoke the words he’d heard Ben say so often over the last weeks.

‘Slow down, babe. You’re going too fast.’

A look of recognition and amusement flashed over Ben’s face but only for a second, and suddenly, from nowhere, his eyes filled with tears. Callum’s stomach dropped and he jerked forward, pressing into Ben’s space and reaching out with both hands, cupping Ben’s face and apologising all in one flurry of movement.

‘Oh God, Ben, I’m sorry; I wasn’t laughing at you, I promise, I wasn’t taking the mick, I’m so sorry, you can tell me, I’ll shut up, I’m an idiot, I-’

The press of Ben’s lips against his own successfully stopped his rambling in a way very few things could.

When his eyes opened again – _and when had they closed?_ – Ben was still crying but at least it was with a smile on his face. Callum wasn’t sure that it was any better, though, and used the cuff of his new shirt to wipe away some of the moisture trapped in the dark lashes.

‘I’m ruining your birthday tea.’

Callum dragged his fingertips through Ben’s hair, just over his ears and sighed, shaking his head.

‘I don’t care. I don’t care, Ben. This is important. You’re important. Just tell me what you’re thinking and I’ll be here. I’ll listen.’

He pulled Ben’s face closer to his own and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead before pulling away and looking into his eyes once more.

‘I’m here.’

Ben’s smile was steadier now, and the wink he threw Callum’s way might have been a shadow of its usual cocky self, but he appreciated the effort nevertheless. The effect was dampened, quite literally in this case, by the clumped eyelashes and reddened cheeks, but it was more Ben-like than anything Callum had seen in the last ten minutes.

‘Never doubted it, babe.’

It was still just bravado, still putting a false face on, but it didn’t rile Callum in the slightest. This was Ben building himself back up again; he was feeling more battered and broken than Callum had ever seen him, and the layers of apathy and nonchalance that he wore out of habit took a while to repair. It was painful to watch, but it made Callum adore him even more, that Ben was letting him see this, see him _like_ this. He knew no one else got to. It made him burn inside, a roiling, protective sear that stripped him almost breathless. 

He hadn’t lied all those times he’d said he’d loved Whitney. He would never have let anything bad happen to her; he went out of his way to keep her safe, even now. And he’d do anything for Mick, or Linda, or any of the Carters. Even Shirley. And, well, he was getting there with Stuart, too.

He’d thought he’d known what love, what _family_ was.

But Ben.

God, Ben. 

With him, it was something else. Something he treasured and was terrified by in equal measure. The devastation he felt when Ben stood with tears in his eyes, the fury that raged in him when he was sad; he didn’t have words for that. It wasn’t love, as he’d always known it. Maybe he never had, before.

When Ben had asked him, all that time ago at his and Whit’s housewarming party, Callum had told him. Of course he’d been in love before. Of course he had. Because he’d been happy and comfortable and cared for in a way he’d never known. But this was different. Everything was different.

This was gut-churning, cheek-burning, nausea-inducing love, that threw you into the highest of highs and dragged you, barefoot and bleeding into its lowest depths. Callum knew that he had been hurt more by Ben in six short months than in all of his time with Whitney, and he knew why, too. He knew why every time he wrapped his hand around the side of Ben’s head and just held him, palm settled into place like it was made for it, like they just _fit_.

They’d both fought for and against this, pushing and pulling each other until they’d broken, several times over. And Callum knew they’d do it again, each and every time some new strife turned up, whenever Phil dragged them back into some scheme or Callum said something stupid or Ben lashed out in frustration or anger or pettiness. 

But right here, in this second, the day after Ben had declared his feelings on the living room floor of his flat, Callum couldn’t help but feel hopeful. And so happy. So, so happy. 

He knew he was pushing it, maybe running the risk of having his head bitten off, but he couldn’t keep the words in. He’d never been good at lying, and he was even worse at keeping schtum.

‘I’m proud of you, too.’

The grin on Ben’s face flashed wider.

‘You stealing _his_ thunder, now?’

Callum smiled and watched Ben as he shifted forwards to rock up onto his feet, pushing a hand out to help Callum up too. Taking the help with a groan and no small amount of creaking as his long limbs had locked into place, Callum let Ben tug him towards the living room and propel him gently towards the sofa. He followed close behind, dragging off his coat and slinging it over the back of the armchair before dropping, slumped, onto the cushion beside Callum. He must have pulled the note from his dad out before dumping the coat and had it curled inside a loose fist, resting on his thigh.

His arm was resting along the back of the sofa before he even knew he as moving, and that was all it took for Ben to slouch into his side. Callum picked up the remote and keyed the subtitles on, smiling when he felt the chuff of laughter emanate from Ben.

‘Lexi’s got you well trained, ay?’

Callum squeezed his arm and placed his hand on the top of Ben’s head, turning his face to press his lips against Ben’s hair. He reached out with his right hand and wrapped it over the fist holding the note.

The television played out the remains of the gameshow that had been on when Ben arrived home and Callum resumed watching without watching.

He knew Stuart and Rainie would be back in the next hour, that they’d be forced to move or go to bed, get ready for another day of facing the world. Another day of navigating communication alongside Ben’s hearing loss and wondering how long this flash of seemingly genuine affection from Phil would last, before his natural, ornery instincts took over again. Another day of panic when Ben wandered off to the car lot, out of sight and unable to hear, unable to protect himself from anybody that might want to hurt him, or his dad. Another day of secret smiles and rolling eyes from Jay whenever Callum sneaked a look at his texts or ducked out to pick up the coffees, and accidentally took forty minutes to make his way back. Another day closer to Ben’s operation, of knowing once and for all if this was just for now, or for the rest of forever.

Ben’s free hand shifted, rubbing up and down Callum’s thigh, once, before settling again. Callum drew in a deep breath and slumped lower, eyes falling half closed as Ben pushed closer. 

It didn’t matter. Tomorrow would come as it always did, and he’d still be here, helping Ben where he could, holding him when he needed him to.

Making sure that Ben knew it.

He'd told him yesterday, but he would spend every day showing him from this point on.

Showing him in all the ways he knew how. He’d use his voice, his hands, his face and his mouth. His arms and eyes and expressions and-

He didn’t need to write a note to tell Ben what he felt about him.

How proud he was of him, of them.

They didn't need notes. They just needed this.


End file.
